


Tethered Souls

by gingergallifreyan



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Doctor Who Secret Santa 2019, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Reincarnation, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Ten x Rose is the main couple though, references to other Doctors x Rose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21939790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingergallifreyan/pseuds/gingergallifreyan
Summary: Rose Tyler's had her mark since she was thirteen and she knows who her soulmate is. Problem is, he was alive in the eighteenth century. Then her path crosses with John Noble, and she starts to question the meaning of soulmates for herself.
Relationships: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler
Comments: 76
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MageWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MageWriter/gifts).



> This is my DW Secret Santa 2019 gift for magewriter over on tumblr who prompted a soulmate AU. I took inspiration from [this](https://write-it-motherfuckers.tumblr.com/post/174680854582/everyone-is-born-with-a-mark-on-their-body-that) prompt. Hope you enjoy! More chapters to come. 
> 
> Many thanks to beworthylove for looking this over. I fiddled with it after she read it, so please forgive any mistakes.

Soulmarks used to be a big deal back in the old days. In a world without technology and a means for quick and efficient communication, people had to work to find their match. Some would travel great distances to foreign lands. Some found their soulmate quickly. Some died before their marks developed at puberty, but there wasn’t any sort of magic binding the pair. If one passed, for instance, the other could move on and find love again. Scientists had no explanation for how or why the marks came to be, so some people paid it no mind and fell in love with whomever they wanted.

In the present time, however, like most things, there was an app for it. People could upload a photo of their soulmark at the age of eighteen and their match would be found in no time.

Rose Tyler never bothered with it. She’d already found her soulmate on a field trip to the Kensington Central Library. Located on the back of her neck, she often pulled her hair up to display her mark like a tattoo. It was in the script of the ancient Gallifreyan people, one of the Celtic tribes. Her mother always commented how odd it was seeing as they weren’t descended from the Celts, but Rose rather admired the strange pattern of circles and swirls and geometric lines. As far as she’d been able to translate, it said _Arkytior,_ but she didn’t know what that meant.

At fifteen, she’d had her mark for two years. She’d always dreamed of the day she’d meet her soulmate: she’d be in line for coffee in the student union of whatever university she’d enrolled in, and just after she’d order, she’d turn and find a tall, dark, and handsome man with stars in his eyes. “Your mark, it matches mine,” he’d say, and then they’d get married and her life would be perfect.

Her dreams were shattered that day in the library. Hanging on the wall above an arch was a portrait of an Earl or whatever from the eighteenth century. Her friend Shareen pointed it out. “Rose, isn’t that your mark?” Sure enough, on the back of his hand, was the same exact symbol on the back of her neck. Tears pricked her eyes and she ran to the bathroom. How could this happen to her? Her soulmate was already dead. She reached up and pulled the elastic from her hair. “No sense in showing this off anymore.” She’d just have to wear her hair down from now on.

Rose went a bit mad after that, developing a rebellious streak. She hooked up with one of the band members on a night out at the club with her mates, left her mother after her GCSEs. Jimmy Stone turned out to be a bad egg. When Rose opened the door to Jackie’s flat after two years, she said, “Please don’t say, ‘I told you so.’” Jackie merely embraced her daughter. Then she used her network of friends to get Rose a job at a department store, Henrik’s, and she worked there for a few years to pay down the debts Jimmy had incurred in her name. After a while, she thought about enrolling in uni. She had no idea what for. She’d wanted to take her A-levels in English and Art; perhaps she could pick them back up.

One day after her shift was up, instead of heading back to her mum’s flat as she normally would, she took a bus to the Kensington Central Library. They were only open for a half hour more, but she didn’t need that much time. She knew right where she was headed, to an arch above which sat the portrait of the Earl with her soulmark.

He was handsome, though, with his proud jaw and stately nose and close-cropped hair. His cheekbones alone could have given her a papercut and his icy blue eyes seemed to be peering right into her. And for some reason, something nagged at her that she knew him, but she couldn’t imagine how. He’d died over a century ago, and she didn't remember his portrait from any history lessons.

She couldn’t stop thinking about him on the bus to the Powell Estate, so she phoned her mum and told her to save a plate and she’d be home later. She found an art supply store and purchased some pencils and a sketch pad. Art it was, then.

It hadn’t occurred to her to take a photo of the portrait. She hadn’t needed to. His face was burned into her memory.

“Christopher. You look like a Christopher.” She hadn’t taken the time to find out anything about his portrait, but it just felt right. “I’m sorry we missed each other, Christopher.”

An idea struck her, then. She wouldn’t get to live her life with Christopher, but maybe, just maybe, she could write about it. Maybe a novel? With the recent zeitgeist over period drama (thank you, _Downton Abbey_ ), there was bound to be an audience for it.

Just her luck, the next day at Henrik’s, she met one Donna Noble, who worked at her grandfather’s bookshop. And they needed extra help for the holidays. Rose agreed to stop by the shop to check things out. Her unplanned novel came to mind; perhaps she could learn a few ins and outs of the industry during her time there. The stars seemed to be aligning for her after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose works on her novel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos. It means the world, and I say that sincerely. Thanks to beworthylove for reading this over. I've fiddled with it after she read, so any mistakes are mine.

Rose groaned as the shrill beeping from her alarm cut through her slumber, and she slapped the digital clock on the nightstand with an ease of someone who was well practiced in the action, the accuracy belying her dismal state. Her head ached and she struggled to focus through blurred vision.

She’d been up well into the night on her laptop. The creative energy and caffeine finally wore off around four o’clock and that was after a long shift at Henrik’s. Today was her day off from the department store, but it would be far from empty. Though she was scheduled for a shift at the bookshop at ten, she wanted to wake early anyway to read what she’d put on the page. So she stretched and shrugged into her robe and left her room to make a cuppa.

Her mum was already up, sipping her tea as she watched the telly. “Morning, sweetheart.” Rose merely hummed in response. “You were up late. Your light was still on when I came in at two. Working on that novel of yours?” She turned the kettle on and zoned out as she waited. Grabbing a few biscuits from the jar on the counter, she steeped her bag and poured in a splash of cream. When she settled back in her bed, tea cooling on her nightstand, she reached for the laptop beside her.

_The bell above the door to the bakery rang, but Marion was busy sorting the new delivery of supplies in the back. “Just a moment!” she shouted._

_“Take your time.” She froze at the response and her heart sped at the timbre of his voice. “No rush.” She thought she might need a few more moments just to calm herself._

_Wiping her face with her apron, she took a deep breath and strode around the corner to meet him at the counter._

_“Lady Marion Baker,” he greeted, his blue eyes sparkling._

_She curtsied. “Lord Sheffield. I’ve told you, don’t call me a Lady.”_

_“You’re every bit a Lady as any of the Ladies I know. Even more so.”_

_“Even still, your Lordship, the society women don’t look too kindly on me when you do that.”_

_He snorted and rolled his eyes. “They can sod off.”_

_She stifled a giggle at his irreverence. “Why are you here today?”_

_“I wanted to put in an order for the big dinner.”_

_“Is that not a task for your kitchen staff?”_

_“You know me, Marion, I get my hands dirty where I can.”_

_She grinned. “And that is why Sheffield adores you. But don’t you hate those dinners? They don’t seem to be of your interest.”_

_“Oh, you know my mother.” He rolled his eyes. “Likes to put on a show for the whole county and beyond.”_

_Indeed, she did. Her family’s bakery had been a staple of the community, just as his family’s peerage had been established in Sheffield for several generations, and while Mrs. Thomas was more than a fine cook, she welcomed the assistance of the bakery during big events so she could focus on other courses. His family was so grateful for the assistance that they often stopped in on their way through the town to purchase pastries._

_Lord Sheffield, Christopher Smith was his name, had visited the bakery many a time on those stops, and Marion was nearly the same age as him. While it was frowned upon for the upper class to mingle with the working class, the Smiths didn’t mind their children playing together since the Baker family was such a pillar in the community. And he never forgot Marion, not even when it was time for Christopher to take up the title of Earl of Sheffield._

_Then again, Christopher remembered many people of the community. Marion adored that about him, how he made everyone who crossed his path feel important, regardless of their status. He was one of the very few members of the nobility who held the opinion that soulmarks rendered the class system useless. As a result, no father was willing to offer his daughter in marriage._

_Nonetheless, the Dowager Countess held lavish dinner parties in an effort impress the wealthy families of the area, and she begged her son to put away his idealistic views in order to secure an heir for the future of the estate. Marion knew that was the reason for the dinner, even if Christopher didn’t share it._

_If she were honest, which she tried to be in nearly every area of her life, she was secretly pleased he didn’t take an interest in domestic matters. She’d been in love with him since she’d come of age, and while her family encouraged her to look for a match among the steel working families, she had eyes for only one man—the one she never could have. And though she wished him every happiness and would tell him so if the occasion arose, it gave her some comfort to know that he didn’t seem too keen on pairing up with someone else. She wasn’t naïve as to the reason for his unexpected visitation to the bakery._

_“Anyway,” he continued, producing a parchment list from his satchel, “this is what will be required.” He offered the document and Marion reached for it. As she took it, her fingers brushed his leather glove. To her surprise, his free hand covered hers, and she stared at the point of contact, her heart quickening again. “Can you handle this?” he asked softly._

_Her eyes snapped to his. The corner of his lips was turned up slightly, and her face softened. “Of course, your Lordship. The Baker family is happy to be of service.”_

_The light in his eyes dimmed. “Marion, you don’t have to call me that.”_

_“I do, actually.”_

_“We’re friends, aren’t we?”_

_“Of course we are. Some of my fondest memories are of running through the streets of town with you. It’s just that…” She shrugged. “I know my place, Christopher.”_

_He had that look in his eye, like he wanted to argue, but he swallowed and shook his head. She was just as stubborn as him, and he’d learned not to disagree with her when her mind was made up. “Fine, if that’s what you say.” Her heart hurt at the sadness in his eyes, the weariness he carried behind them coming to the forefront for a few brief seconds. He smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Thank you.” He nodded and withdrew his hands, balling them in loose fists by his side before smoothing them down his trousers. “Good day, Miss Baker.” He bowed his head out of courtesy and left._

_She hated to hurt him so, but she was practical, and the reality was they could not be together. His mother would never approve the union, and as warm and welcoming as she was, she still had standards._

_She sighed, and then realized she hadn’t moved in the slightest. Her attention turned to the list, but her mind still focused on the softness of the leather._

_She contemplated the gloves. Why did he wear them, anyway? He’d done so after he turned eleven, and she’d never seen him without them, and he’d never given a reason. She’d have to inquire the next time he visited._

Rose smiled. Exactly like the dream she’d had the night before. It’d felt so real, like she’d lived it herself, and she’d been pleased to remember so much of it. She set about editing until her mobile chirped at her. Nine o’clock. Time to get ready for her shift at the bookshop.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Undercover matchmaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to beworthylove for beta'ing. I messed with it a bit after she looked at it, so please pardon any mistakes.

Much Ado About Books was a quaint bookshop in Chiswick. Wilf and Donna had purchased it together when the previous owner put it up for sale. He’d run a newsagent and she’d been a temp at H.C. Clements, and both had been eager to leave their respective careers behind.

Donna extended a coffee as Rose entered. She was an exceptional barista, manning the coffee bar most days, and Rose was enjoying learning from her how to do it herself. “Our holiday shipment has arrived. You ready to stock some shelves?”

Rose grabbed a cart, loaded a few boxes of children’s literature, and headed for the cozy corner in the back. After taking over the shop, Wilf had hired a friend to construct a nook and furnished it with child-sized recliners and afghans Sylvia had made (and sold; a few people had wanted to purchase, and Sylvia was happy to oblige). Kids loved sitting in the nook with Donna’s hot chocolate while their parents enjoyed a book for themselves in a separate lounging area in the middle of the store. Most thanked them before they left for a moment of quiet. And that was how Much Ado had become a staple in Chiswick. Wilf and Donna were brilliant together.

Wilf, however, was getting older, and eventually he’d need to retire for good. He’d been saying as much himself, which is why Donna thought it would be good to bring someone else in. When she’d met Rose in Henrik’s, she’d had a good feeling, and Donna’s intuition was rarely ever wrong. Donna loved Rose. She was kind and smart and a good friend. Sylvia, thankfully, loved having her around and loved her mother. Rose was unaware of her plan, but Donna was planning to ask if she’d be interested in becoming her partner, and if Rose agreed, that would be her Christmas present to Wilf.

She’d invited her cousin, John, to the shop that day since it was his day off from being a pediatrician at Princess Royal University Hospital. But she wasn’t going to tell Rose that. Rose had a mind of her own, as did John, so neither would take too kindly to a set up. Nevertheless, her infamous intuition told her they’d hit it off, so she planned a bit of undercover matchmaking. Get them in the same place and the magic would happen itself.

John didn’t care much for Sylvia. He tended to take shifts at the hospital on Sundays during dinner, so he and Rose hadn’t had the opportunity to meet, though she was vaguely aware of who he was from family photos. Donna had explained the relation: Geoffrey Noble, her father, had a brother called Sydney, who married Verity and moved up to Glasgow to work and be with her family. Donna had spent many a cherished holiday in Scotland with her cousin, and he’d chosen to work in London specifically to be close to her.

For now, Rose was content to stock children's literature. She’d finished all the boxes but one. When she opened it, she giggled at the newest installation of the _Outlander_ series. “This is not the right section for you. This is literature on how to make children.” As she rounded the corner of a large shelf with the box in hand, the toe of her flat caught on the carpet and she would have fallen if not for the pair of arms that steadied her.

_“Marion! Are you alright?”_

_She stared up at him, breathless, and grinned. “Christopher, thank you.” She’d been carrying a crate of loaves down the stairs into the kitchen of Sheffield Manor and had somehow missed the bottom step. Lucky for her, he was there to catch her._

_“Oh, so it’s Christopher now, is it?” She shifted the crate in her hands to her hip and stepped out of his arms. “Thought you were set on Your Lordship. Are you sure you’re alright? Didn’t twist your ankle on the stairs?”_

_Thankful he didn’t give her the chance to respond, she made her way to the kitchen. “I’m fine, thank you.” She set the crate on the counter and held onto it for a moment, waiting for his next move. His icy blue gaze pierced her heart even if she couldn’t see it._

_He cleared his throat from the doorway. “Well, if you’re alright, I need to check upstairs.”_

_She wheeled around, to her surprise. “Thank you, really. I might have hurt myself if not for you.”_

_His face softened and he crossed the room. “Of course.”_

_“Then I might not have been able to work, and Mum just had the new baby. W-would’ve been hard on my family.” His proximity set her heart pounding._

_“Can’t have that. Someone’s got to keep the place running.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“You…” His eyes fell and he shrugged._ _  
  
“What?”  
  
“You should be my guest this evening.” _

_"What do you mean?”_

_“The company's bound to leave me miserable. I’d invite you to dinner, but I already know your answer.”_

_“I can’t. You know I can’t.”_

_“You’re an extraordinary woman, Marion.”_

_“I’m not.”_

_“You are, and I can do whatever I like, being in my position. You deserve so much, Marion.”_

_“What does that have to do—”_

_“I could ask for your hand.”_

Rose blinked, and in place of blue eyes were brown. What had just happened?

“Are you alright?” the man to whom the brown eyes belonged asked.

“Yeah, think so.” She looked at her feet. “Thanks.” Whatever it was, it was stronger than a mere déjà vu, more like…

“Of course.” His Scottish accent caught her attention.

“I should have used the cart. Stupid, me.”

“Pardon, do I know you from somewhere?” He tugged his ear.

She looked him over. Tall, unbelievably thin frame. Good hair. Really good hair, in fact. The few photos at Sylvia’s hadn’t done him justice. “Sorry, we haven’t actually met. You’re John, right?”

He made a face like he was confused, which she found quite adorable. “Yes. Ehm, John Noble.”

“Rose Tyler,” she offered. “Donna and Wilf have mentioned you a few times. You’re on Sydney’s side, yeah?”

His lips curved into a smile. “How’d you know?”

“Donna talks.”

“Yeah, she does. A lot. More than me sometimes.”

“I heard that!” Donna’s voice cut through the many bookshelves. Rose giggled.

“No offense!” he shouted back, to which Donna said, “Taken!”

Rose continued. “And I’ve been over for Sunday roast a few times.”

“Sylvia’s not been too hard on you, has she?”

“No, my mum’s been along. They get on like peas in a pod.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Glad Sylvia was finally able to make a friend.” He scratched the back of his neck, and the back of hers pleasantly burned. Suddenly hyper aware of her mark, she touched it. It was warm like it hadn’t been since it had developed in her early teens. She stared at her hand as if it held the answers to questions she didn’t know how to ask. “Are you sure I don’t know you? I swear I’ve seen you somewhere. I’ve got a fantastic memory for these things.”

“Maybe on social media? I’m probably in a few photos for the bookshop.”

“Maybe, but I don’t really have time for all that.” He stared for a few seconds before stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Ah, well. I’m sure it’ll come to me."

“When you least expect it.” She felt warm under his gaze, and for a moment couldn’t shake the feeling it was familiar.

“Seems to be how these things work. Anyway, this section's always been my favorite.”

“Yeah, mine too.” She grinned, supposing he was good with kids, being a pediatrician.

“The constellations, are those new?” He stepped over to the nook and examined the ceiling and walls.

“Yeah, those are mine. I thought it would add to the aesthetic. And Wilf loves the stars. He likes sitting with the kids and explaining them.”

“Oh, this is beautiful,” he crooned. Rose found the sound warming her down to her toes, as did his grin when he looked at her again. “You’re a painter?”

“I dabble, yeah.”

“Do you work professionally? I’ve been pushing the hospital to update the murals in pediatrics.”

“Oh. I… art’s been something I’ve always been good at. I would have sat my A-levels for it.”

He shrugged. “Just to think about. Mind if I take some photos of this to show off? It might persuade them to go ahead.”

“No, sure.” For one moment, she was lost in how her life had turned around in the last few months. From discovering her soulmate and beginning to write about what she could have had with him, to meeting Donna and working at the bookshop, to maybe having an opportunity to indulge in her art for pay. What had she done to deserve any of this? Maybe Christopher was looking out for her. She smiled fondly at the thought. She’d fallen in love with him a little, hadn’t she? How could she not when every scenario she’d imagined with him felt so real? She’d never met him, but felt as if she knew him intimately. Writing him and their interactions was effortless.

She turned to place the box of books on the cart and moved them to the proper section and worked by herself for the rest of the morning, thinking about Christopher and writing more scenarios in her head. The sounds of Donna and John laughing, which they did often, distracted her from her musings. They riffed off each other perfectly and Rose smiled at their antics. Really, they should have their own comedy special on the BBC.

She enjoyed watching them decorate the Christmas tree in the middle of the shop. John was so tall he didn’t need a ladder to string the lights or hook ornaments on the higher boughs. She caught herself staring once or twice. Luckily, he hadn’t noticed. He was attractive, wasn’t he? Anyone with two eyes could see that.

She hadn’t really considered dating since she broke things off with Jimmy. She knew her soulmate wasn’t an option, so what harm was there in opening herself up to someone else?

Rose took lunch by herself at the chippy down on the corner, jotting notes in her journal, but mostly thinking about John. She knew him somehow, but they hadn’t gone to the same school. She hadn’t ever worked in menswear at Henrik’s. They’d never stocked a suit like his, so he probably shopped elsewhere.

Donna and John returned from lunch long after Rose, and they finished putting up decorations in the windows while Rose finished stocking the shelves. At the end of the day, he shrugged on his long suede trench coat. “Do you, ehm, mind if I get your number, Rose?”

She stared. “What?”

“For the murals, I mean, to let you know what the hospital manager thinks. At the very least we’d have to open it up to receive concepts from different artists. I want you to be the first to know.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, by the way.” She took his mobile and entered her contact information, sending herself a text with his name.

“It was, ehm, nice meeting you.” He scrubbed the back of his neck, what must have been a nervous habit of his.

“Yeah, you, too.” She bit her lip. He was cute, and Donna surely would have said something if he wasn’t a good guy. “You could, I dunno, call me for coffee or something, too.”

“Rose fancies a good fish and chips,” Donna interjected.

He never looked away and his hand stilled. The corner of his lips turned up. “Yeah, I just might.”

\--

_“I could ask for your hand.”_

_Marion stared. “What?”_

_“Show me your mark.”_

_She covered her shoulder without thinking. “I can’t.”_

_“Fine.” He made quick work of his gloves. “Tell me this doesn’t match yours.” There on the back of his hand was the same mark as hers, the concentric circles and straight lines. She gasped and covered her mouth. “I dream of you every night, Marion. Sometimes I’m not the same man, but it’s always you I see.”_

_“How can that be? The man I dreamt of looks nothing like you.”_

_“I can’t explain it, but what does that matter? I’ve loved you since I came to understand what love was, and I’ve only ever loved you. This proves we were meant to be together.” Her eyes filled with tears. “So, yes, I can ask for your hand. And I will, and I am. Please, I can’t take another moment without you.”_

_Marion launched herself at him, eagerly meeting his lips with hers. His strong embrace pulled her closer and he held her desperately to him. “I love you,” he murmured. “I love you, Rose, whoever you’ve been, and whoever you are now, and whoever I am now. I will find you. I will always find you."_

Rose bolted awake, tears streaming down her cheeks, the weight of his arms still around her. Christopher had spoken to her. To _her._ Yes, he was her soulmate, and Marion was the character she’d created as her stand-in for her novel. But she’d felt _him,_ she swore it. She’d become more and more convinced that what she was seeing weren’t just hypothetical scenarios of a life she wished she could have had. They felt real, all the times she imagined working at the bakery, how she could smell hot loaves fresh out of the wood fire oven, the stickiness of the dough as she kneaded it, the fine grind of the flour in her hands. She hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it because it was impossible, but they were memories.

It was absurd. How could she have been with Christopher if she was alive in a completely different time? Marion, when Rose had been Marion, had dreamed of someone else like she’d dreamed of Christopher? And what did he mean, whoever he was now?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to beworthylove for beta'ing.

_ Chris’s heart pounded out of his chest. He knew she would reject him, but he held the one card she didn’t know about. “I could ask for your hand.” _

_ Marion’s bewildered gaze made his affection for her only grow. “What?” _

_ “Show me your mark.” He’d gone to wish her family congratulations on the new baby, which prompted Marion’s mother to inquire when he was planning to settle down and start a family of his own. She’d said it wasn’t her place, but wanted to know if he planned to ask Marion, and he’d replied that he’d been trying, but she was reluctant to the idea if only because of her station. Her mother had asked him to remove his glove, the one hiding his mark. Chris wasn’t surprised she’d known, but her face was still as stone as she’d studied it. Her only remark had been that he should speak with Marion. Could it really be, he wondered, that Marion’s mark matched his? _

_ As she clasped her shoulder, he received all the confirmation he needed. Only one thing for it. “Fine,” he remarked, and he peeled his gloves in haste, extending his hand. “Tell me this doesn’t match yours.” _

_ She gasped and covered her mouth. “How can that be?” Her amber eyes met his, searching him out desperately. “The man I dreamt looks nothing like you.” _

_ Tears pricked his eyes. She’d had the dreams, too, and that was all the more evidence to him they were drawn together by fate. All he’d wished for in this life was about to be fulfilled. He would spend the rest of his days making sure Rose—no, Marion—Marion knew how more than worthy she was of his love. _

_ Rose… Rose is the woman from Donna’s bookshop, in his arms for the briefest of moments, just as Marion is. Rose… _

_ Rose— _

John bolted awake. Rose—he  _ knew  _ he’d seen her before. How the hell had the woman (quite literally) of his dreams appeared before him in Donna and Wilf’s bookshop?

Occasionally in his teens he’d dreamed of her after his mark had developed between his shoulder blades. Her name may have changed, but her appearance was always the same, as was her character. And during those dreams, he’d come to know this kind, lovely woman, and he’d never given anyone else a second glance. He’d given her his heart long before she’d given him her number.

Once his heart slowed, he tried to make sense of it all. The dreams, they weren’t recurring. The life he lived in those dreams felt so real, like he was a completely different man. Several men, in fact.

For all of his questions, John was certain of one thing: he  _ had _ to see her again.

Making plans would have to wait, though. He did need some answers, so he called the one person he trusted enough to help: his mate, Jack, who headed a soulmate consultant agency. “Jack, hi. Care for breakfast? It’s on me.”

“Breakfast  _ on  _ you? You know I’m down for that.”

“N-no, not like that.” John rolled his eyes.

“Aw, I’m only teasing, John. You’d think after so many years you’d catch on. You must be serious about something.”

\--

John tossed a sandwich box and set a coffee on Jack’s desk. “I’ve met my soulmate.”

“So much for foreplay,” the other man mumbled. “What do you mean? Showed her your mark already? That was fast.”

“I don’t think she knows.”

“Did you see her mark?”

“I don’t need to.”

“How do you know, then?”

“This is going to sound bizarre, even for me, but I’ve been dreaming about her for years.”

“What?”

“Since my mark came in.” John rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve had dreams of living different lives and she’s always the same. And then I went to help Donna and Granddad and there she was. And the more I think about them, the dreams don’t seem like dreams at all. More like—”

“Memories?” Jack’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling.

“Yes. I’m reliving parts of these lives through dreams.”

“I’ve read about this.” Jack jumped up to the bookshelf behind him, scanned the table of contents of a blue book, and tossed it to his friend. “Are you ready? Page fifty-three.”

John stared wide-eyed at the title of the chapter. “Reincarnation?”

“It’s posited that some soulmates are bound together from life to life. Go on, take it for as long as you need.”

“Would she have memories, too?”

“I suspect all you’d have to do is ask. She says as much in the chapter. There’s not been enough research on it.” He scratched his head. “You’re really just accepting this at face value? That’s not like you.”

“Anything’s possible, I suppose. It’s certainly the first time I’ve had any sort of explanation.” He turned to the back cover to look at the author: Idris McCrimmon. He’d have to do some research of his own, maybe even look her up.

“Have you written any of your memories in a journal?”

“I should.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“No, not yet. I’d like to see her for longer than the first date.”

“Is she perfect?”

John couldn’t help the smile that lit up his face. “For me.”

“You don’t even know her.”

“Not  _ this _ her in particular, but she’s always the same.”

“This is completely unlike you. She must be special.”

“She is.”

“Well, I want to meet her, then.”

“Not anytime soon.”

“Oh, come on, John.”

He shrugged. “I’d like to see her for longer than the first date.”

“Oh, come on!” John raised an eyebrow at Jack’s raucous laughter. “I’m perfectly charming! And—” he tapped on the desk— “if it doesn’t work out with her, I’m available.”

He smiled knowingly. “For who, though? One wonders.”

“Either.” He held up his hands. “Maybe both at the same time.”

John shook his head with a grin. “Oh, Jack.” He stood and tossed the book in the air, catching it. “Thanks for the reading.”

\--

Rose was deep into a sketch, Chris’s intense eyes from her mem—dream, whatever it was, when her mobile rang. She jumped at the sound, but froze when she saw the name on her screen:  _ John.  _ She’d simply saved it as John, no surname. Was he really calling her so soon? Her cheeks warming brought her back to reality and she answered before it could go to voicemail. “Hello?”

A few beats passed before he said, “Rose?” He sounded just as surprised as her.

“Yeah. Hi, John.”

“Hello.” His voice had warmed with what she could imagine was his charming grin, the one that could melt marble.

“Hello,” she replied.

“Ehm. I was wondering if we might get that coffee.”


End file.
